it is the time of year again,
in the shifting months of the moon based calendar
it is that holy time when
the inner self is forged with steely hunger
it is that shifting place of sands
of memory and men who were me before
of my father who died on the 28th day they say
the friday is what he aimed for
for friday is the holy day at the end of the work week when
i stand in my row and i try not to pretend
to mean what i mean when i say to god silently with tightly closed eyes
god, give him back to me
again
and as i shuffle out
amidst the milling parishioners,
men and boys i've known my whole life
wandering aimless and amicable through the crowd,
shuffling on my shoes,
nodding to this one and handshaking to that
and being the good son and the good boy and the nice young man at the mosque
i can feel how hollow the steps i take are
and how thin the veil of the reality of my goodness
compared to their staunch simple soulless mechanical coming and going to prayer is
and they do not see me
but simply smile and nod at the ghost of the rows
Bluestar
22 year old
Sister
from a cave where TV is never heard of and people are nice.
Super ModeratorOffline
Join Date: Oct 2003
Rating:
Posts: 7,470
1st of May 2008 at 00:19
As the night creeps up
and the coldness sets in.
When the toils of this life are remembered
and the rivers of this world flow from tiny vessels
I see the abyss again.
Before i would have trembled with fear
Now i say, "Hello, it's you again"
__________________
I worked my way up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty.
Ilikemyscarf
Sister
from I wish I wasn't in Dixie.
Senior MemberOffline
Join Date: Feb 2004
Rating:
Posts: 12,025
Re: 1st of May 2008 at 00:19
Quote:
Originally Posted by Bluestar
As the night creeps up
and the coldness sets in.
When the toils of this life are remembered
and the rivers of this world flow from tiny vessels
I see the abyss again.
Before i would have trembled with fear
Now i say, "Hello, it's you again"
WOW! That was awesome. I'd like to see more of your writing, please.
__________________
♥«´¨` ScarfyPower´ ¨`»♥
A friend cannot be considered a friend until he is tested on three occasions: in time of need, behind your back, and after your death.
- Ali Bin Abi Talib.
When you see me smash somebody's skull
you enjoy it.
How dare they challenge me with their somewhat primitive skills?
They're just as good as dead.
My power is discombobulatingly devastating;
I could feel his muscle tissues collapse under my force.
It's ludicrous these mortals even attempt to enter my realm.
Julius
One morning
I woke up and found my favorite pigeon Julius
had died.
I was devastated and was gonna use his crate as my stickball bat to honor him.
I left the crate on my stoop and went in to get something
I returned to see the sanitation man put the crate into the crusher.
I rushed him and caught him flush on the temple with a titanic right hand
he was out cold
convulsing on the floor like an infantile retard.
When you see me smash somebody's skull
you enjoy it.
How dare they challenge me with their somewhat primitive skills?
They're just as good as dead.
My power is discombobulatingly devastating;
I could feel his muscle tissues collapse under my force.
It's ludicrous these mortals even attempt to enter my realm.
Julius
One morning
I woke up and found my favorite pigeon Julius
had died.
I was devastated and was gonna use his crate as my stickball bat to honor him.
I left the crate on my stoop and went in to get something
I returned to see the sanitation man put the crate into the crusher.
I rushed him and caught him flush on the temple with a titanic right hand
he was out cold
convulsing on the floor like an infantile retard.
sally
20 year old
Sister
from the clouds. except on clear days
Super ModeratorOffline
Join Date: Mar 2002
Rating:
Posts: 20,499
Re: Poetry - your own
this guy who really liked a friend of mine used to give her all this poetry and stuff and we thought he'd written it. one day i got really curious because i didnt expect him to churn out stuff like that. so i googled it and sure enough, the entire time he had been stealing other peoples' work
More Information
Poetry - your own
i hate everything i write
